Existence Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be
by MissAnnaThema
Summary: Set during season 5 after Spike gets his soul back. Just a bit of silliness. Chapter 2 to come later this week. R&R Please!


"Come on Spike, I just want to examine you! It's not every day you get to run tests on a man, who became a vampire, who had a government chip in his head, who then was ensouled by some sort of mysterious cave dwelling demon, who sacrificed himself to allow mystical energy to flow through him to destroy a hellmouth, who came back as a ghost, who's existence straddled this dimension and another, and who suddenly, upon opening a package, became corporeal again…not even at Wolfram and Hart!" Fred stopped and took a deep breath.

"Are you quite done?" Spike cocked an eyebrow at her.

"No, not until you let me do a thorough examination!" she replied breathlessly.

"Not happening, luv. Evil to fight, whiskey to drink, young innocents to defile—I'm a busy man these days now that I've got a firm grip on this existence again. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important carousing to do." Spike turned and stalked out of the lab, his leather duster swinging around his long legs.

"Vampires!" said Fred, exasperated, slamming her clip board down on the lab table.

A few hours later, having drunk his weight in Jack Daniels, sung some old pub songs with some new friends, gotten in a bar fight with an old enemy, saved a damsel, bedded said damsel, and picked up a new poetry journal with a black leather cover, Spike settled down for a good day's sleep. The temporary digs provided for him by Wolfram and Hart, were none to shabby if he did say so himself, and he was looking forward to getting some sleep instead of hanging around all ghosty while everyone else got some shut-eye.

Just as he was drifting off he felt a familiar, yet strange, sensation. It was a tickle, or perhaps an itch, in his nose. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and rolled over. There it was again, more insistent this time, building in intensity. He rubbed harder, but the tickle continued, mounting into an irresistible urge to… "_aaaah…aaaAH…AH-ISHoooo!"_...sneeze.

"That was weird." Spike was surprised to hear the words out loud. But it was, it was weird, very weird. Spike couldn't remember the last time he'd sneezed, but he would bet good money it was back when he was still a human. He shrugged, and put on his long, leather duster and got back under the covers. "A bit chilly in here," he thought. "Damned fancy air conditioning—give me the warm, dry, stagnant air of a crypt any day."

Spike closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing into the comfortable mattress. But again, just as he was sliding toward unconsciousness, that maddening tickle in his nose, "_AAAHshooo!…aaah…aaahSHOOO!_" he sneezed twice in rapid succession. Sniffling now, he pulled his duster tighter around him and squeezed his eyes shut. "Damned corporeal existence ain't what it used to be," he muttered.

Despite a few more interruptions, Spike eventually managed to fall into a restless and dream filled slumber.

Late that afternoon, Spike opened his eyes and blearily rubbed his face and shook his head to clear away the fog. Out his window, the sun had just set over L.A. and the last light still lingered in the sky, bathing the city in gold. Despite the beautiful view of the city from out the window of Wolfram and Hart, Spike was feeling rather out of sorts, having woken up to a pounding headache, sore muscles, and that same obnoxious tickle in his nose. "Sodding American whiskey, sodding hangover, bloody hell." Spike reached over and grabbed a smoke from the nightstand and lit it, inhaling deeply. The smoke stung his throat and lungs. "Funny," he thought, "I don't remember it burning like that before." He took another drag, exhaled through his nose, "Hehh-SHOO! Hehh-SHOO! Hesssh-ess-SHOOO!" and sneezed three times in quick succession. "This is so bloody weird," he shook his head and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

After finishing his cigarette, Spike stripped down and got in the shower. The hot water soothed his aching muscles (and the bruises from last night's bar fight), but it did nothing for the pounding in his temples, or the maddening itch in his nose.

"_AAAAH-Shooo! Heh-Chooo!_" he sneezed, dropping the soap.

"_heh..hehh..iSHOOO!_ BLOODY HELL!" as he got shampoo in his eyes.


End file.
